Watching and Waiting
by RobinL
Summary: Babe oneshot from Joe's POV.  Joe confronts a drunk and disorderly Ranger.  Mayhem ensues.


**Title**: Watching and Waiting

**Author**: Robin

**Disclaimer**: I keep tossing pennies into water fountains hoping that one day I'll wake up and be JE, but it hasn't happened yet. Until then, they aren't mine.

**A/N**: It is a Babe story, but in Joe's POV. Sorry, Ranger is incredibly out of character in this one. I blame it on the booze.

**Rating**: R for language. Sorry no naked, sweaty Ranger.

"Ranger."

She whispered the one word guaranteed to stop my heart. I looked sharply at the woman lying next to me, snuggled into the pillow, hair wild, covers tangled around her legs. She was sleeping. Dreaming. Of Ranger.

"Fuck," I swore under my breath. I couldn't escape the man for a minute. He was always there, always with her. With his flashy cars and his monosyllabic answers. Bailing her out of trouble. Getting her into worse.

I wasn't a jealous person. I'd always been confident enough in myself that I didn't have to be. But Ranger's a different story. He had more than me… more money, more muscle, more mystery. I couldn't compete and I really didn't want to. Shouldn't have to. But, it was hard not to compare yourself with the man that your woman had on a pedestal. And it was fucking humbling when you didn't seem to measure up.

If he weren't trying to ruin my love life, he'd be a guy I admired. He was smart, good at his work, well respected in the business. A little crazy, maybe. And sometimes a loose cannon, writing his own rules. But he got the job done. As it was though, I hated him, if only on principle. He wanted what was mine and I knew he'd cross all kinds of lines to get what he wanted.

It was a small consolation that I had the girl in my bed. But even here, he wasn't far away. And I suspected that when I was inside her, when the world should narrow to just two of us, he was there as well… in her fantasies. In her heart.

I ran my hands through my hair and rolled out of bed to head to the bathroom. A car at the curb caught my eye as I walked past the window. I looked down at the quiet street and the car that didn't belong. Ranger. The windows of the Porsche were tinted black, but I knew he was there. He was always there. Watching. Waiting.

I slammed my fist down on the windowsill and cursed him under my breath. This was beyond ridiculous. He was stalking my girlfriend and I was going to put a stop to it. Right now.

I grabbed the pair of jeans I'd tossed over the footboard earlier in the evening and stuffed my legs into them, not bothering with underwear. In the dark, I found a t-shirt and pulled it over my head then crammed my feet into a pair of sneakers. My police issue was loaded, lying on the bedside table, and I tucked it into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back. Just in case.

I took the stairs two at a time and strode right through the front door, not bothering to shut it behind me. Ranger's car was still at the curb, across the street, engine running. I walked with purpose right up to the driver's door and knocked on the glass.

The window slid down silently to reveal Ranger's impassive face.

The testosterone rush that had propelled me to this point had my blood rushing, but my brain was having some trouble keeping up and I was at a loss for words. So I just stood there, breathing heavily, hoping he'd speak.

Finally, he did. "Morelli," he said, his voice as flat and emotionless as his face.

"Manoso," I returned, snarling my irritation. I could conceal my emotions with the best of them, but when it came to Stephanie, my feelings were always too close to the surface.

Again the silence stretched between us and again he was the first to break it. "Is there something I can do for you, Officer?" he asked.

Yes, I shouted in my head, you can stay the hell away from my girlfriend. Instead I just clenched my jaw and said, "You can move along now, before I get a restraining order issued against you. It's 3AM. What the fuck are you doing out here? Don't you have a life?"

The corner of his lip curled in an ironic twist. "Life?" he snorted. "My life is lying in your bed. Sleeping in your bed. Fucking you in your bed." His voice was bitter when he spoke and his words were slightly slurred. "And I'm sorry, Officer, but I can't leave right now. I'm in no condition to drive." With that, he extended his arm out of the window and overturned the bottle of Jack he was clenching by the neck. It was empty aside from a few drops that dripped from the lip of the inverted bottle.

I could smell the alcohol on him and was surprised… astounded even. He wasn't a man that lost control. Now, though, there was no sign of the restrained man who'd faced almost certain death to sacrifice himself for his daughter and my girl. He was a mess. I'd almost feel sorry for him if he hadn't been making my life such a bitch for so long.

"Christ, Manoso. This is just pathetic. Steph is with me. You need to move on."

"Can't," he said, tossing the bottle into the tiny space behind his seat where it clinked against at least one other similarly dead soldier. "Tried. It didn't take."

"Try harder," I growled. "She's mine."

He smiled at that, a sad, drunken smile that usually preceded loud drunken tears and exclamations of 'I love you, man!' I didn't think I could handle that. In fact, I wanted nothing to do with it. I'd shoot him before I'd let him cry on my shoulder. And it would be justifiable homicide. I reached behind my back, under my shirt, just in case.

As I watched, he reigned in his emotions, running a hand over his face and fisting it in his hair. Breathing a sigh of relief when the blank look returned, I removed my hand from the handle of my gun.

His face was composed, but his eyes were distant, seeing something from long ago. "Yup, she's yours alright. And it's all my fault. I'm a fuckin' moron."

What could he possibly have done to bring Stephanie and me together? "Look, I don't know what your deal is, Manoso, but Steph and I have nothing to do with you. And if I have my way, someday soon we'll be married and we'll never have to have anything to do with you ever again. We're together because that's how it's supposed to be. We're meant for this. We've always been together."

"Not always," he said, shaking his head.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Officer Morelli, that you haven't always been together," he slurred. I really hated dealing with drunken people. "In fact, there was one particular night when you were very much not together. You were very much apart. Apaaaaartt. And she and I were togeeeeether. Do ya know what I mean by together? Ya do know, doncha? Together," he said smacking his hands together for emphasis. I felt my stomach jolt at the sound from surprise and sickening realization.

Stephanie had fucked this psycho. He'd been in her bed, and inside her. There was a buzzing sound in my head and my breath caught in my chest. She'd never said anything. She still worked with him, spent time with him, and she'd let him touch her. I closed my eyes, trying to clear my head, but all I could see were his hands on her white skin. I fought a wave of nausea at the image in my mind and was dimly aware that Ranger was still talking, oblivious to what his revelations were doing to me.

"…thought if I slept with her, I'd get her out of my system, man. I thought it would satisfy my curiosity and I could get on with my life, ya know? It didn't work. All it did was whet my appetite for her. I can't ever get enough. Now I know what I'm missing. I know what she's doing in your bed and it's killing me. I had my chance. I blew it. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't sent her back to you?"

What the fuck? Sent her back to me? Is that the only reason she and I were together now? Red rage blinded me. I grabbed the handle of his door and yanked it open. "Get out of the car, Manoso," I said, low and threatening. I probably couldn't get away with shooting him, but I sure as hell couldn't let this pass unanswered.

Ranger's eyes didn't leave mine as he stepped out of his car, his balance was slightly unsteady but otherwise he was calm. We were similar in height, but he had bulk that I couldn't touch. I, on the other hand, was sober and pissed. Overall, I liked my chances.

"Go ahead," Ranger said, leaning back against the car door he'd just closed behind him. His words were soft and sad. "Give me your best, Morelli. I deserve it. I fucked her and I left her and I sent her back to you even though I was already in love with her. I hurt her because I wanted to protect her and I _hate_ myself for it." He pushed away from the car door and stepped toward me. Any other day, this man walking toward me would be slightly intimidating, but now his posture was anything but. He'd let down all of his defenses, physical and emotional. "Everyday I regret sending her back to you. Hit me Morelli. You can't hurt me worse than I hurt myself."

I tried to hold myself back. But, I didn't care that he was drunk, that he was clearly not in his right mind. It didn't matter. I looked at him and the picture of him fucking Steph, her writhing under him was all I could see. I had to hit him, I couldn't help myself.

My fist connected with his jaw with a satisfying thud, but he didn't go down. He didn't even react. He just looked at me calmly.

"Come on, Morelli," he taunted quietly, "I thought you boxed in the Navy. You brawled your way through your wasted youth. You can do better than that."

I hit him again, this time catching him in the gut. The air whooshed out of him and he doubled over for a moment, hands on his knees. When he straightened, he was smiling. The sick bastard.

"Better, but I know you've got more than that. Come on, you know you want to. If I hadn't fucked up, I'd be with her right now. Instead, I'm waiting for you fuck up so I can be with her again. But, if I get a second chance, believe me I'm not giving her up. I'm not making the same mistake twice…"

He was still talking, but I couldn't hear him over the screaming in my head, could barely see him through the haze of hatred. The thought that this man was just waiting to take over my life snapped something inside of me. I hit him again and this time I didn't stop, throwing punch after punch until I'd gotten him to the ground. And once he was there I landed a few kicks for good measure. He didn't lift a finger against me, didn't even try to defend himself, but I was beyond caring. The logical part of my mind was drowned out by the raging beast that inhabited all of the Morelli males.

When I backed off, Ranger raised himself to a sitting position, leaning against his car. Blood was trickling from the corner of his lip and a cut high on one cheek. One eye was already swelling and the other wouldn't be far behind. He was holding onto his side where I'm sure I'd bruised, if not broken a few of his ribs.

He laughed, the laughter dissolving into a coughing fit which ended in a quiet moan. He looked at me through his one open eye and said, "More. More, Morelli. Until I hurt more outside than I do inside. Come on."

The desire to continue beating him until he was no more than a wet smear on the pavement was warring with my returning good sense. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands for even thinking of touching Stephanie, but I'd done enough. It was time to get him off the street and back into the hands of the thugs he ran with. I moved toward him, intending to help him up, but stopped short at the angry voice behind me.

"Enough!" Stephanie voice was brittle as she brushed past me and knelt down next to Ranger, folding her long bare legs under her. She hadn't bothered to dress and was only wearing the old, thin t-shirt and a skimpy pair of panties she'd worn to bed.

She ran her hands over Ranger's face and chest, gently assessing his wounds. "Why? How could you do this, Joe?" she asked harshly, tears pooling in her eyes.

With dawning horror I realized that 'Because he asked me to' wasn't going to be a good enough answer and this situation had the potential to end very badly.

I opened and closed my mouth several times, trying to figure out how I could explain myself. "I didn't…"

"Babe," Ranger interrupted, his hand wrapping around her wrist as it slid over his chest. "It's not his fault. I asked for it. Repeatedly." He barked a laugh, which ended as a bit of a wheeze, and he shook his head, "Fuck. I'm not pushing the two of you together, again. Be mad at him if you want, Babe. It's fine by me."

I stood there silently, watching them together. I wanted to tell him to get his hands off of her, but I knew I was already in enough trouble with Steph. Ranger still had her wrist in his grasp, her palm was flattened over his heart. She leaned toward him, almost as if to kiss him, "Jesus, Ranger. You're drunk."

"Very observant, Babe," he said with utter sincerity and a look of open adoration. "See, that's what makes you such a good bounty hunter." I couldn't help it. I laughed. A five-year-old could figure out he was drunk, the alcohol fumes were rolling off of him in waves.

It was a mistake to remind Steph that I was still there. She swung her gaze to me and narrowed her eyes.

I raised my hands in self-defense, "Listen, Cupcake. It wasn't what it looked like. I shouldn't have let him get to me, but I couldn't help it. If you heard what he said…" She didn't look convinced. In fact her lips were compressed into a thin line and anger was radiating from her like heat off of hot asphalt in summer. She stood and walked over to me, not stopping until her face was inches from mine.

"I heard it. I heard everything. Half the neighborhood heard everything. You two weren't having a quiet conversation. When I heard your voices, I opened the window to see what was going on. And when you started beating him, with no provocation – no _real_ provocation," she added with a pointed look, "I decided I'd seen and heard enough."

I couldn't meet her eyes. The adrenaline rush had subsided and my higher thinking was kicking back in. She was right, though I didn't want to admit it to myself. I'd lost control and I should have kept my cool. Hell, I should have left Ranger sitting in his car, drinking himself into oblivion and stayed in bed with Steph. I'm sure I could have found a way to drive any thoughts of him out of her head.

She whirled away from me and returned to Manoso's side, crouching down next to him, heedless of the bare skin she was displaying. "Ranger, what are you doing here? What were you thinking?"

He swiveled his head to the side to face her. Stark emotion showed on his face and in his voice, "I was tired of thinking. I think too much. You make me feel. Sometimes you make me feel like a superhero and sometimes you make me hurt, but always, you make me want more. I'm here 'cause you're here. I'm always here, watching, waiting. Where else would I be?" He took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth pressing a kiss into her palm. His other hand brushed the hair off of her cheek in a soft caress.

I waited for Steph to pull away, to tell him that it wasn't appropriate for him to touch her like that. I waited for her to get angry, or to tell him no, or to look guilty, or to remind him that she's with me. But she didn't. She tilted her head and leaned into his touch, savoring it. And something inside me withered. I think it was my heart.

She spoke softly to him and helped him up. "Let's get you fixed up, okay?" When Ranger was standing, leaning heavily on her for balance, I spoke again, making one last effort.

"Stephanie, lets call one of his men. They can take care of him. You and I need to talk." I put my hand on her arm to stop her, only then noticing that my knuckles were bruised and bleeding.

"No, Joe," she said shrugging off my hand, eyes flashing. Her voice was wounded when she spoke, "There isn't anything to say. I thought I knew what kind of man you were. I'm sure finding out that Ranger and I have been intimate in the past was upsetting, but nothing… _nothing_ excuses this. And if Ranger's men find out you've done this, they'll shoot you, badge or no badge. I'll take care of him myself."

I reached out for her again, knowing this might be my last chance, "Wait, Steph. Please. I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn't have lost control. Please stay. Please talk to me." I held onto her arm like a lifeline. If she left now, she'd never be back. I knew it and I wouldn't, couldn't let go.

Stephanie yanked on her arm, trying to free it from my grasp. "Joe, let go. It's done."

"No. It can't be done. We're never done." I didn't care that I sounded like I was begging, Stephanie was worth it.

"Joe, you're hurting me. Let go," and she yanked again.

I looked down at my hand on her arm and before my brain could send a signal to my hand to release her, Ranger's fist connected with my face. I dropped to the ground from the impact, pain exploding in my head from the blow and from where it bounced on the pavement. Dots danced in my vision, nausea rolled over me and my brain throbbed with each beat of my heart. From the ground, I watched Stephanie guide Ranger to the passenger seat of the Porsche. I sat up, the world spinning, and put a hand to my head to try to make it stop.

Stephanie crouched down in front of me, "Will you be able to make it back into your house?" Her tone was efficient and brisk, not tender as it had been with Ranger.

"Yeah. I guess I had that coming," I said with a wince, getting to my feet.

Stephanie just shrugged her shoulders, and I saw the red handprint on her arm. I reached out to touch it, but let my hand drop when she shied away.

"Did I hurt you?" I swallowed hard and my eyes burned with the threat of tears. I hadn't cried since I was ten-years-old and my old man beat me with his belt for hitting a baseball through the kitchen window. I didn't want to start now.

"I'll be fine. You should put some ice on your cheek. You're gonna have a hell of a bruise," she said, turning to get in the car.

I nodded my head even though she couldn't see me. Her hand was on the door handle and there was nothing I could do to stop her. She was slipping through my fingers. "Steph, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this. I don't want to let you go."

She simply stood there, shoulders shuddering as she sobbed quietly. There was a mist in the early morning air, as if the sky was crying, too.

"You won't be back, will you?" I asked, hoping that she surprised me with her answer. But she didn't.

With her back still to me, she shook her head and said quietly, "Just to get my stuff. I'm sorry, Joe."

My voice cracked when I answered, "Me too, Cupcake."

She opened the door, slid into the driver's side, bare feet and all, and started the car. As I stood in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night, I watched her drive away. Out of my sight and out of my life. She never looked back.

_The end_


End file.
